With a Lack of Solitude
by JoPo08
Summary: Canada finally gained his long-awaited independence, but the new trouble was how to fill the new void of loneliness. To help, he sends a letter. Brotherly!CanadaFrance one-shot


Canada threw open his door and ran into his house, threw his luggage onto a chair and twirled. Kumajiro peered around the corner at his master with his head tilted.

"Who're you?"

"I'm Canada!" He replied giddily, not bothered by the fact that yet again his little pet forgot him. "Not some Canadian Providence or territory. I'm Canada; good ol' Canada. Nice, eh?" He picked up his bear and twirled again, laughing. The bear seemed to smile also, as the mouth stretched and the fur around the face puffed up comfortably. "I bet you're hungry, huh?" the boy asked as he put Kumajiro back down. "I've been gone for two weeks and I'm willing to bet you went through all of the food, eh?" Kumajiro pawed his leg in affirmation.

"Then I'll make pancakes and bacon. We need to celebrate, anyway."

Canada began to sober as he laid out the ingredients and cut a slab of bacon. Well, he thought, what after breakfast? Now that he was here, what was he going to do? He wondered what his southern neighbor and brother (and annoyance) had done when he had become independent.

Recuperated, Canada answered to himself mentally, considering America and Britain had had the fight of the century. America had a hissy fit because Britain needed more money to support his war with France...

Come to think of it, it did kinda suck for Canada too... oh well, it was over now anyway!

He didn't want to celebrate with America, that was easy enough, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he hadn't made any friends because Britain was so overprotective. The last person he has seen this century had to have been France.

Now, _that_ wasn't so bad of an idea. He smiled and flipped a pancake.

_Dear __France__, _he planned mentally. What else after that? "Sorry for not talking to you ever since I was a kid, but I don't have any friends and I'm kinda lonely. Would you mind taking time out of your Post-WWII political madness to come and visit?"

He thought about it more and more as he made, burned, and eventually ate his breakfast with Kumajiro.

It was three hours of housework and other distractions before he went to his dusty desk, pulled out some parchment, and began a letter.

And then it was another two hours of shredding, crumpling, dipping, tossing, and lost ink, before he banged his head on the desk and cried a faint "MAPLE!" in frustration. There wasn't any way he could send France a letter without it seeming too formal or too whiny.

More time passed as Canada fell asleep at the desk, before waking up to a familiar warm fuzz rubbing up against his leg. The pygmy polar bear rubbed his nose against his master, pleading eyes stating that lunchtime had passed with no servings, and now dinner was approaching. Canada's blinked the sand from his eyes as he stretched down to grab his little... Kumagyro, Kumajiko... and hugged him to his chest.

"You know Kumagyro, one of the last memories I have with France is the three of us. I remember when you were even tinier and you got stuck in the middle of stampede of moose. I ran in to go get you and we got stuck on the back of a moose (I've always been a pretty good jumper, eh?), and when France saw us he charged right through it and rescued us.

"Now that I think about it, it's not like he put himself in any danger doing it, he _is _a country after all. But so am I, and I probably would've been fine. Anyway, he carried us both home and patched your paw and ear up, and then he spent forever checking and ranting on me.

"He really was a good big brother," Canada concluded, nodding down at Kumajiro, who actually seemed interested by the shared memory. "Not that Britain wasn't." A pause. "All right, he was a bit of a stiff." Another pause. "A _prick__._"

But then in a flash, it came to him, as he lurched to the quill pen and snatched another piece of parchment he began to write. Kumajiro made a sigh as close as could be made by a polar bear, and snuggled down into his owner's lap, realizing dinner was a long way away. In the meanwhile, he would make sure he left a hole in the boy's jacket to show his disapproval, and luckily the spot he picked had a maple stain on it.

_Dear__France__,_

_This __is __the __first __letter __I__'__ve __managed __to __take __out __of __the __country __without Britain__watching __to __see __who __I__'__ve __sent __it __to__. __If __you __haven__'__t __heard __it __from __his __own__ (__possibly __drunken__) __lips__, __then __I __guess __I__'__ll __be __the __first __to __tell __you__, __but __I__'__m __independent __now__. __And__, __considering __you__'__re __my __big __brother__, __I __wanted __you __to __know__. _

_It__'__s __been __about __a __century__, __give __or __take __a __decade __or __so__, __since __I __saw __you__, __and __in __that __time__, __I __matured __a __lot__. __Sadly__, __I __don__'__t __fit __into __those __dresses __you __made __for __me __as __a __kid __anymore__, __and __I __haven__'__t __gotten __around __to __having __a __decent __French __meal __in __years__, __but __even __though __you __left__, __I __wanted __you __to __know __that __I __still __hold __your __language __and __culture __very __close __to __my __heart__, __and __I __have __fought __very __hard __to __preserve __them__, __even __if __I__'__m __starting __to __forget __some __of __it all__. __The __memories __become __a __bit __vague __as __time __passes__-__our __favorite __meals __together__, __trading__, __and __even __what __you __look __like__ (__America __told __me __you __had __a __bit __of __a __beard__, __and __I __don__'__t __remember __that__...) __but e__ven __though __I __spent __more __time __with Britain __than __you__, __you __are __always __the __big __brother __I __remember __having__. __I __understand __if __you__'__re __busy __right __now __and __can__'__t __come__, __but __the __invitation __is __always __open__, __and __I __would __like __to __see __you __again__, __and __share __a __glass __of __real __wine __like __old __times__, __though __you __don__'__t __have __to __water __it __down __anymore__. _

_Toujours __prêt __à __lever __un __verre__, __et __avec __l__'__amour__,_

_Canada_

France leaned a drunk Britain against the windowpane of Britain's home as he fished for some house keys that were hopefully in the drunk man's pockets. He sounded a note of victory when he set them in the hole and was able to finally throw the Englishman on the couch with a glass of water and painkillers. He then turned and trotted right out the door.

France made his way back home and thought over the night. These sorts of nights tended to occur more often as economic stress went higher. Since the war, both he and Britain had grown more cordial-if a step down from countless wars was called such-and became drinking buddies. And that had become something else entirely that France hated: "The Designated Driver."

This time, in one of his stupors, Britain once again talked about child problems, but this time spouted nonsense about Canada, one of France's _former_ colonies. Thinking he had the two North American brothers confused, France pretended to listen to the all-familiar prattle about independence.

"Can you believe it?" Britain had asked. "The little bugger just walked up to me and asked if he wanted to go... I thought he actually loved me. But what the bloody hell am I supposed to say?"

"Wait," France said, surprised the story was abridged, "What happened to the war?"

"There _is_no war, you idjit," Britain replied, slurring. "I'ma talking 'bout Canada. He left two weeks ago after I set him loose. I can't go to another war after he just fought with us in the second Great War, right?"

"Canada is independent from you?" France hadn't bother to hide the light in his eyes or the haughty tone, but Britain in his drunken haze hadn't caught either of them.

"That's what I said, bloody git. Now take me home... I'vegotsome knittin to do."

"Certainly."

And thus France had done just that, and eventually made it to his own home. As he pulled his car into the driveway he leaned out the window to grab his mail and headed inside. He threw them down on the counter, and quickly browsed to see they mainly looked like bills and went upstairs to bed.

After a nice, long Sunday bath the next morning, France headed downstairs. He made a pot of coffee and sat down at the table to go through the mail that he had so carelessly thrown down last night. As was his observation last night, most of the letters were bills from several countries. But at the bottom of the pile was a tiny envelope with an unfamiliar postage stamp of a maple leaf.

Gently France tore it with his letter opener.

It was a week and a half since he had sent the letter, and though he knew he shouldn't expect a letter back in another few days or so, Canada was nonetheless nervous. He wanted to make sure France had even gotten the letter.

That day he moved sedately around the house, recovering from the last few days of hustle and bustle from all the parades all over his homeland. Kumajiro was content to follow Canned...Collard... well, his master, about the house that day.

The morning passed by slowly for the two, and it was a surprise when there was a knock at the door at about 14:00, yet the larger surprise was the person behind it.

"F-France?"

"Bonjour~" France replied, cheery. He ran his hand through his hair nervously, "I'm glad you remember me! I got your letter and didn't bother to write one back but instead headed right over!" He stepped forward, then paused. "You wanted company, _non__?_ I even brought a present." France pulled a wine bottle from a brown bag he was carrying. "May I come in?"

"Certainly! Maple!" He shimmied from the doorway, smiling even as his teeth chattered.

France put down his bags and the bag and turned back to get a full take of Canada. "How you have grown!" He stepped forward, patting Canada's shoulder and face before pulling him into a hug.

"You have no idea," France mumbled, "How happy I am for you. Your letter brought tears to big brother's eyes."

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to..."

France laughed, pulling back. "Je t'aime aussi. Now let me re-teach you how to go make a good French meal to go with this wine, alright?" He peered around for the kitchen, and finding it, headed toward it. "Now," he said as his voice began to fade away, "I decided we should make bœuf bourguignon, and it's relatively easy..."

Canada was unable to hear more.

So many years apart, and it's as if their love hadn't stopped for a moment. He hadn't realized that was what he was saying in his letter, but he really did love his big brother, and it seemed that France had been willing to feel the same.

Canada was happy to be independent. Independence didn't necessarily mean solitude.

* * *

><p><strong>Thus the forever long hiatus is broken. I wrote this several months ago, but was too depressed about my writing to post it. I'm now getting the whatever feeling. So... here it is. <strong>

**This was a response to a challenge in my small anime group. 'Make a short story including a love letter. It can be any type of letter and any type of love.' And, as my favorite love is the familial love, I wrote this. I try to use as little French as possible (since I can't speak it, so I feel like a hypocrite attempting to use google to make French.) That, and I don't think people in France go "Mon dieu!" for everything as one in America doesn't go "My God!" **

**_Toujours __prêt __à __lever __un __verre__, __et __avec __l__'__amour: Always ready to raise a glass, and with love:_**


End file.
